“And he haunts you. Dunacre haunts me.” Tremont rose and went to the sideboard, rummaging about madly for what else he could say. He poured two small portions of brandy and brought a serving to his guest.

“To ward off the chill, and don’t tell me ladies never partake of strong spirits. If you’d ever sipped my mother’s Christmas punch, you’d know that is utter rot.”

Matilda tasted her brandy. “Thank you.”

Tremont resumed his seat and sampled his drink. “For making you cry?”

“For making me talk. About Harry. He was awful. One lives with disappointment, and when Harry strayed—which he regularly did—I was relieved. I wanted no children with that man, but I was his wife, and he treated me like a second pair of boots. Too useful to pawn, but hardly something to show off. He bought me a fine cloak so nobody would know the rest of my wardrobe was falling to pieces.”

“He betrayed his vows, and he betrayed you. I’m sorry. You did not deserve the fate Merridew visited upon you, no matter how high your youthful spirits, no matter how much of a hoyden you might have been. The institution of marriage should have been a refuge and became instead a prison and your husband its warden. That is worth crying over.”

Matilda nosed her brandy, which had to be among the loveliest sights Tremont had ever beheld. She hadn’t let herself indulge in a good fit of the weeps, but her eyes were luminous and her color a bit high.

“You are right, my lord. Harry Merridew was the husband from hell. Everything about him, from his smiles, to his poetry, to his promises of marital bliss, was a lie. My aunt agrees with my assessment of him, but to hear a man pronounce sentence on Harry is a comfort I had not thought to have.”

Why not? “I cannot vouch for my entire gender, but I’m sure Major MacKay and Captain Powell would agree with me. Have you met their cousins? Mrs. Sycamore Dorning and Colonel Sir Orion Goddard are brother and sister, and when MacKay is in town, he and his missus socialize with both.”

“I’ve met the colonel. Wears an eye patch? I know of the Dornings.”

“Half of London does. Lord Casriel and I occasionally collaborate on bills in the Lords. Managing eight siblings must be far more complicated for his lordship than dithering about with Parliament. More tea?”

The snow had settled into steady, businesslike precipitation, while conversation wandered from other mutual acquaintances to matters at the House Without a Name. By the time Tremont was escorting his guest from the parlor, she was again her usual composed self, and he was…